


Can't Think Straight, Mouth Is Numb

by sandpapersnowman



Series: Charley Brewster: Blood Donor [2]
Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Dirty Talk, First Time Blow Jobs, Gay Awakening, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Dynamics, Threesome - M/M/M, also lowkey, lowkey though - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 15:18:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14404863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandpapersnowman/pseuds/sandpapersnowman
Summary: Charley is still Jerry's personal thermos. He hasn't seen Ed in a while, and Jerry's been pushing it more and more with their feeding sessions.(sequel toOne Night Stands Are For Suckers; Jerry is still doing gay shit and now Ed is involved.)





	Can't Think Straight, Mouth Is Numb

**Author's Note:**

> finally writes a second part to a fic i posted almost two years ago. nobody will notice theyre two years apart right
> 
> sequel to [One Night Stands Are For Suckers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8327890) which probably is necessary reading but is only 2k
> 
> big thanks to taylor for Believing In Me and also bribing me with reptile photos! title is construed from the wombats' [Cheetah Tongue](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/wombats/cheetahtongue.html)

Things don’t happen that directly again. It’s not uncommon that Charley will stay hard, and sometimes Jerry will help him out with it, but usually he just lets Charley jerk off on his bed without making eye contact while Jerry watches.

...Okay, y’know, putting it that way, maybe it’s just as direct as Jerry actually sucking him off.

Jerry’s also gotten less sneaky about putting his mouth on him; there’s a lot more kissing, both before and after he bites, and they’re not always disguised as being _because_ he’s going to bite. Sometimes he’ll kiss Charley’s neck just to hear him pant and feel his fingers grab at his shirt, and then move down to bite his thigh instead.

God, he bites from his thigh a lot now. He’s actually had to ask Jerry not to bite the exact same spot over and over, because he’s worried about scarring and potentially having to explain to someone one day why he’s got a permanent mark on him that’s shaped exactly like his hot neighbor’s canines.

(Jerry had laughed against his thigh and asked, “Your _hot_ neighbor, huh?”, and Charley had rolled his eyes, grabbed him by his hair, and just pulled him back down to the red oozing out of his skin.)

(Jerry’s also gotten a lot easier to tolerate since Charley’s started kind of enjoying being fed from; Charley can push him around a little when he gets annoying, as long as he doesn’t act like he thinks he’s actually got any power over him.)

Honestly, tonight might not even be for a big feeding. Jerry told him to make sure he didn’t have anything else to do that night or in the morning, and he figured it was just going to be a slower session. He’d known Jerry liked to drag it out the first time he broke in and found his entire creepy food prison, and he hadn’t been surprised when the quick fill-up sessions became just as over the top and hedonistic.

Jerry’s been taking his time, kissing his neck and even taking Charley’s shirt off so he can kiss his torso too. He might be covered in bruises in the morning, which he’s not a fan of because it means more to hide, but Jerry’s mouth feels so nice kissing his stomach and not-quite-biting over his chest that he can’t bring himself to complain.

He finally makes the first graze, scraping his lower teeth _up_ on his stomach to make a gash rather than a proper bite, and Charley hisses at the pain but only until Jerry’s mouth is over it. 

He might have gotten used to the pleasant numbing effect of vampire spit in a wound, but he still shouldn’t be as eager to feel it as he always is.

Charley’s eyes are shut, but Jerry’s mouth feels sloppy against him. The skin around the wound that isn’t numb feels warmer than it should, and wetter, and it’s either blood that Jerry’s missing or just drool but he can’t tell. He’s not going to check -- neither sounds appealing.

Jerry pulls off too soon and Charley opens his eyes to watch him close the wound, but instead, he finds Jerry moving up him, pinning him; his mouth is smeared with blood and his fangs push his lips too far off his skull to pass for human. Charley’s _too_ used to the sight.

In the same motion, Jerry’s kissing him, bloody mouth and all, and it’s gross for all the wrong reasons. The first and only issue he has with it is that Jerry’s getting blood on his mouth, and Charley can feel their lips pull at each other when Jerry pulls away to re-kiss him harder.

He never thought he’d describe a kiss as sticky, but, granted, he also never thought he’d be kissing his hot vampire neighbor on the mouth with his own blood between their lips.

His eyes flutter closed while Jerry kisses him. He remembers reading something about vampires using blood in humans’ mouths to make them do their bidding, but he’s pretty sure it was supposed to be the vampire’s blood? Like, he’s pretty sure that’s not what’s happening.

Not that it’d make much of a difference, because Charley gets so desperate once Jerry has him like this that he’d probably do just about whatever Jerry wanted anyway, whether he was under a spell or not.

It’s over as quickly as it started, Jerry slipping back down him to lap up what he’s missed from Charley’s stomach.

He opens his eyes just for a second so he can watch Jerry’s tongue flatten over his skin -- in a not-gay way, of course -- and almost has a heart attack.

Ed’s standing in the doorway.

“Jesus Christ,” he yelps, and pushes Jerry’s face away from him. He scrambles to sit up, barely resisting the urge to pull a blanket over himself like they’re a couple of teenagers that just got caught fooling around.

Ed hasn’t been around for a feeding since Jerry got gay about it; he assumed either Jerry weaned him off of secondhand blood and onto hunting for himself (which Charley doesn’t like to think about) or just told him to stop hanging around because he was cockblocking or something.

Jerry barely notices past annoyance that he can’t reach Charley anymore.

There’s something distinctly humbling about the way Jerry looks up at him, hungry, as always, but with his pupils blown and his mouth hanging like it’s _empty_ of something.

At least he has the decency to lick Charley’s blood off his lips before he speaks.

“I told him he could come watch,” Jerry says, nonchalant as he can manage with his voice as rough as it is.

“ _Why?_ ” 

Ed’s still just standing there, smiling. He looks like the old Ed, minus the barely-sharpened teeth and the new ultra-paleness a human Ed could have only dreamed of.

“He asked if he could.” Jerry’s grabbing at his hips and yanking him back down so he can go back to kissing agonizingly slowly over the wound on his stomach.

Charley’s distracted by that for a moment, not only because of the feeling (which, _God,_ is pleasant), but because he realizes Jerry’s been so much sweeter on him tonight. He’s gotten to a point that he’s usually sweet on him anyway, because it keeps Charley behaving and Jerry’s said himself that relaxed and aroused blood tastes better than scared blood, but tonight’s been over the top.

Jerry’s thumb is stroking his hip now, like, _lovingly_ , and Charley also realizes Jerry’s mouthing at his wound like he’s making out with it.

Okay, that’s enough weird, fucked up Jerry shit for the moment. He can mentally process all that later. For now, there’s --

“Hey, Ed.” It barely comes out as a breath, and he’s only pretty sure Ed’s heard because of enhanced vampire hearing or whatever.

“Hi, Charley.”

Jerry’s closed the wound and his mouth is moving down past his navel now, definitely getting into Not Strictly Heterosexual territory soon -- though, God knows he’s toeing all kinds of lines there recently. Charley swallows.

“Are you here to feed too?” he asks. He may as well make conversation while Jerry is tugging his jeans down, like it’s not weird at all to strip your meal down in front of its best friend.

Ed moves for the first time since Charley’s seen him in the doorway, shifting his weight evenly on his feet to stand up straight and start walking over.

“Maybe.”

Ed sounds about the same, too. Less urgent, though; the old human Ed seemed to always talk like everything was vital, lifesaving information, too fast and stumbling over his words and half-panicked. Granted, that could also just have been left over from the hell puberty had wrought on his voice. He’s not sure.

Ed glances at Jerry.

“Can I sit?”

Jerry glances up at Charley instead. If nothing else, that means he’s got the option to tell him to fuck off if he’s not down with whatever Jerry has planned. Still not as consensual as, y’know, just asking, but good enough for him.

“Of course,” Charley says.

Ed sits beside Jerry where he’s laid out on his stomach, on the outside of Charley’s thigh. His eyes are still hungry, and Charley’s sure there's still blood smeared over his skin -- he wonders if Ed’s going to do the same thing as Jerry, with all the kissing and soft teeth.

He’s embarrassed that he must look like a mess from what little Jerry’s done to him, but he’s sure that Ed knows well enough about exactly what Jerry does to work him up.

Wait, _that’s_ what should be embarrassing. What has Jerry told him? Charley imagines he probably gloated about working him up until he had to jerk himself off while Jerry fed (though he imagines Jerry probably left out the part about sucking him off to get him there), but what else? Does Ed know it’s happened more than once? Does he know it’s only been the last couple weeks? Christ, he just saw them kissing, does he think they’re, like, a _thing_?

…Wait, _are_ they a thing?

Ed leans forward and pets his hair back before Charley gets too caught up wondering if he’s accidentally become his hot vampire neighbor’s boyfriend-slash-juicebox.

The way Ed touches his face is… Almost _sweet_. Ed hasn’t looked at him with anything besides bitterness and anger in… God, months. He doesn’t even know how long it’s been.

Ed’s hand cups his jaw while his thumb pushes at his mouth, only enough to make it dig into his lip like he’s seeing for himself how pliable he is.

His eyes catch on the blood still on Charley’s mouth from Jerry kissing him, and Charley can _see_ the shadows form on his lips from his fangs swelling into place under them.

He really doesn’t want to feel attracted to his maybe-ex best friend, who is, again, _also_ a vampire now, but his body’s gotten used to associating fangs and dark, hungry eyes with weird saliva/venom euphoria and jerking off. And Ed isn’t nearly as intimidating as Jerry; the warmth that stirs in him isn’t raw hot neighbor attraction, but childhood closeness and a longing ache for their friendship to feel whole again.

“Jerry told me you’re a real _slut_ now,” he says, and his fingers on his jaw squeeze harder than Charley expects. Despite how harsh the words sound, they don’t come out particularly venomous, no pun intended. It’s almost… Fond? Like Ed actually wants to be here and see him, even if only for this.

He glances at Jerry to see how he should respond, but Jerry just raises his eyebrows at him like it’s up to him how he answers.

If it means spending time with Ed without him glaring or calling him an asshole, he’s down for whatever fucked up plaything-sharing party Jerry has in mind.

And besides, it's... It’s not like he’s _wrong_.

He nods in Ed’s fingers.

Jerry laughs, back to at his favorite spot between Charley’s legs. Tracing the raised, healing skin from a couple nights earlier with his tongue while Ed and Charley chat like this is all the most normal thing in the world.

Charley wants to smack him so he’ll get back on track with the obnoxiously slow, extra gay feeding, but he’s sure whatever macho dominant vampire vibe he wants to give off around Ed doesn’t include _his_ food playing with _him_ , so he doesn’t risk it. Another time, maybe.

Jerry looks up at Charley with a smile.

“Why don't you move your head a little closer to the edge of the bed, sweetheart?”

Charley frowns. He doesn’t know what Jerry means -- closer to the edge, like, so Ed doesn’t make a mess if he’s sloppy when he bites him?

Ed stands from his previous place at Charley’s hip and comes closer, one hand sliding between the back of his head and the mattress and helping him angle himself. It’s a little awkward, because with where Ed’s standing, it puts his face right in front of...

… _Oh_.

“You want to suck him off, Charley?” Jerry asks. It’s a rhetorical question for Jerry -- _he_ can already taste the confused want tingeing Charley’s blood.

He licks his lips anyway.

“Can I?” he asks. He doesn’t know who he’s asking, he just needs an answer more than he needs anything else.

Ed takes a shaky breath -- does he _have_ to breathe anymore? -- and runs his fingers through Charley’s hair.

“That what you want, Ed?” Jerry asks. It’s _really_ unfair of him to run his hand up Charley’s cock at the same time, not quite enough through his underwear but still too much by virtue of _Jerry_ doing it, and he wonders if Ed can feel his startled sigh against his stomach.

Charley’s eyes are unfocused, but he thinks Ed nods above him. Ed’s fingers pet through his hair again.

“I don’t know how,” Charley admits. (Though it’d be more of a confession if he _did_ know, wouldn’t it?) “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Jerry says softly, still rubbing over him with slow, pressing hands. “Just think about what I did.”

Charley laughs at that, drunk on the attention from them both and dizzy from the venom high.

“You put your teeth all over my dick, I can’t do that.”

“You still know what feels good,” Jerry purrs, something about his voice making it extra obscene -- implying they’ve done this enough times for Charley to _know_ what he likes and doesn’t, or maybe the implication that he might have tried to do this for Jerry.

(Which, all things considered, he isn’t sure why Jerry hasn’t pushed him this far until now; God knows he’s pushed him pretty fuckin’ far in every other direction.)

“C’mon, Charley,” Ed breathes. He sounds genuinely desperate, to Charley’s surprise, even while he’s obviously trying to be cool and suave and pushy like Jerry. 

Charley smiles fondly up at him, and he knows it isn’t going to be great, but he’s still going to try.

“Go on, Ed,” Jerry tells him, and with permission finally granted, Ed’s hands stutter to his pants to get himself out.

It should be weirder than it is to see his best friend’s hard cock in front of him, especially so close, but lately, Charley’s been finding that _everything_ should be weirder than it is. He doesn’t particularly mind at the moment.

He opens his mouth wider and turns so the head of Ed’s dick can settle between his lips.

It’s still definitely _some_ amount of weird. It’s heavier on his tongue than he expected, and warmer than the rest of him. It’s just as smooth as he thought it’d be, though, and the caught noise Ed makes is worth the oddly plain taste of skin.

...You know what? He might need to start considering he’s not 100% straight, but that’s a conversation he’s going to have with himself when his best friend’s dick _isn’t_ in his mouth and there’s not _another_ dude between his legs.

The angle isn’t great, and the most Charley can really do is try to suck and use his tongue while Ed pushes his cock over his mouth, but it still makes Ed’s face flush. That’s weird to see, and Charley thinks that means he’s fed recently, right? Because he wouldn’t have much bloodflow otherwise?

It occurs to him that maybe Jerry made him feed before he could join in; younger vampires are supposed to have a much harder time controlling themselves around blood, and Jerry has a few thousand years or so of practice and self-restraint on Ed.

God, whatever. It’s too hard to remember every version of vampire lore he read up on when he’s trying to suck his first dick and someone else is rubbing his through his underwear.

“God,” Ed groans, sounding like he's surprised at how much Charley is getting to him. “Wish I could cum down your throat,” he sighs. “Or on your face, get it all over your mouth so you've gotta lick it off.”

Charley’s also surprised that he kind of wishes he could too.

“Fuck,” Ed sighs. “Can I --”

“Don’t,” Jerry growls, knowingly, low enough Charley flinches away from the tickle it makes at his thigh.

Ed whines back, kind of sad and _needy_ , but obediently stills his hips after another slow rut forward.

Charley finds himself unhappy that Ed had to stop, even if he isn't sure yet how he’d personally feel about someone shooting a load anywhere near his mouth despite his curiosity, but doesn't argue Jerry’s orders. He _does_ lick his lips, still looking up at Ed with a dreamy smile, and there’s some kind of thrill in seeing Ed’s dick twitch at it.

Ed kneels at the side of the bed, to put his face at Charley’s level.

He kissed Ed once. They were 15, and looking back, Charley was just becoming one of the ‘cool’ kids. He brought Ed to a party he’d gotten invited to, and of course someone brought up Spin The Bottle. Don’t they always?

Ed had spun him. It was quick, and wet because they’d both licked their lips, and overall not the best kiss he’d ever experienced, but still not the worst.

This is absolutely nothing like that.

Ed’s mouth is cold and harsh against his, but Charley’s never felt so warm in his life. The blood left in his veins is _singing_ , and Ed is kissing him so good that Charley almost wants Jerry to just leave him there -- fuck whatever Jerry has planned when Charley could lay here blissed out and getting kissed stupid.

Jerry pulls Charley further down the bed, yanking him away from Ed’s mouth and out of the clouds.

“Sit up,” Jerry says.

He sits up and they both move at once; Jerry climbs up and sits behind him so Charley is cradled between his thighs, while Ed crawls onto the bed and kneels over Charley’s lap, still hard and wet from Charley’s mouth.

They probably planned this, he realizes. Maybe not to the letter, but enough that Charley is at the disadvantage of being overwhelmed _and_ winging it.

Ed’s weight over his hips when he straddles him is… Wrong. He feels too heavy for his skinny frame, and it’s so odd to think about. He’s _denser_ than he was when he was…

Well. Alive.

Of course, then he grinds down against him, and the extra weight is too nice to bother him.

“ _Oh_ ,” he gasps out loud, and that makes Ed do it again.

Ed’s hands settle freezing on his ribs. Charley shivers and tries to stretch away from the feeling, at least as much as he can while he’s pinned, but then Ed kisses him _again_.

His hand is on the side of Ed’s face before he realizes he’s moved it, holding him down and trying to ground himself with _something_ if they’re going to do this to him. His other hand almost makes it too, but Jerry grabs it and twists it behind him. He means to pull away from Ed and ask Jerry what he’s doing, but then his palm gets pressed flat behind him against something that is _definitely_ Jerry’s cock through his pants, and instead he chokes on a noise and kisses Ed harder.

Which, speaking of, holy _fuck_ , he must have practiced or something. He was not this good a kisser when they spun that bottle, and he’s pretty sure Ed hasn’t dated or anything since then. He might be biased because Ed’s rocking his hips down in a rhythm just slow enough Charley _probably_ won't cum himself, and that makes just about everything seem like the best thing in the world. But that still wouldn’t explain how much Charley is _into_ Ed’s tongue right now.

He breaks away so he can breathe, because they’ve forgotten one of the three of them still has to, and then Ed’s kissing his jaw and down his neck. He’s forgotten what that could mean until Jerry’s other hand twists in Ed’s hair to pull him off his neck.

Charley can feel either drool or venom _drip_ onto his pulse, and fuck if he wouldn’t be totally cool dying via _that_.

“Bite me,” he moans without thinking. He doesn’t bother trying to backpedal once it’s out, and Jerry laughs at him.

“He will.”

“ _Now_ ,” he whines, and pushes his hand back against Jerry’s cock again in an attempt to convince him to let Ed do it. He wants his best friend to sink his teeth into his neck and _suck_ , and he wants to feel Ed’s venom in his blood just so he can see if it feels different from Jerry’s. He _wants_ it.

His free hand joins Jerry’s in Ed’s hair, trying to pull him down rather than away like Jerry is.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Jerry growls again, at both of them, and this time, Charley can feel Ed whine against his skin.

He squirms.

“Please, Ed,” he says softly, pleading with him instead of both of them. “Do it,” he sighs, and he feels Ed dripping down his neck again. He’s drooling because of _him_ , because _his_ blood is right there.

Jerry fully yanks Ed back before he can bite, and that just makes it worse; his eyes are black and his fangs are so much more jagged than they should be. He looks like just as much of a desperate mess as Charley, drool tipping over his bottom lip and venom dripping off his top fangs. Charley’s never even seen that before, and, like a lot of things these days, the feeling in his gut that should be fear settles a little lower instead and pushes more blood to his dick.

Ed takes quick breaths to calm himself down.

“I can’t yet,” he says, when his fangs have finally devolved enough to let him speak. “I can soon, but not yet.” Ed looks over Charley’s shoulder, and Jerry must be content with the look he gives him because his fingers slide out of Ed’s hair.

He kisses Charley again.

When did it become weird to kiss someone and _not_ feel fangs? He can still feel Ed’s through his lips, but they don’t feel big enough. If they’re not nearly bruising your mouth against your teeth, what’s the point?

“Sorry,” Charley mutters. Out of the heat of it, he realizes how stupid that was, and how relaxed he's gotten around Jerry -- this is the same guy, the same _ancient asshole vampire_ who originally dragged him into his home and upstairs and drank off him between threats. If Ed had disobeyed whatever alpha male bullshit Jerry was doing, it could have been bad for both of them.

“It’s okay,” Ed mutters back.

Charley feels a hand on Ed’s face and opens his eyes.

Jerry’s hand is cradling his jaw and rubbing over Ed’s lip now, and Ed relaxes into it. It’s not the same way Jerry treats Charley, reverent and barely-contained, but it looks like they're comfortable and familiar with the motions they're in.

Charley’s about to smile, happy that Ed is happy, if nothing else, when Ed’s hands slide up Jerry’s arm to hold it so he can surge forward and bite into his wrist.

He expects the horror movie spray of blood to shoot from the corner of Ed’s mouth any moment, but he’s not wasting any of it.

The first time things got physical past the point of no return, Jerry had said he could taste how Charley felt -- how worked up he was, all his adrenaline, the _rush_ when he got himself off with Jerry’s teeth still buried in him. Does that carry over to Ed? Or have those chemicals already been reclaimed and absorbed, and he’s only feeling whatever Jerry’s feeling?

Charley remembers he still has one hand wrenched back to palm Jerry’s dick.

He rubs the bulge behind him despite the near-painful angle, and sure enough, Ed’s hips _jolt_. His cock bounces with the motion, still desperate and red, and behind Ed’s glasses his eyes shut tighter.

(Does he even need glasses anymore? You’d think that perfect eyesight should come with the territory, right?)

“Look who remembers,” Jerry purrs. “You think about that a lot, Charley? How good you were for me when I sucked you off?”

He wants to burn with shame knowing Ed is hearing this, getting confirmation that Charley enjoys what Jerry does to him when his hips press up like _God, yes, only every time I jerk off_. But whatever Jerry is feeding him is making Ed shiver and whimper against Jerry’s wrist, and he wants Ed to still get something out of this even if he can’t feed on him.

“Yeah,” Charley admits, in a worked up sigh that he prays he can deny later as him playing along for Ed’s sake.

“You think about how good you made me feel? How good you tasted?”

He _shouldn’t_ be dwelling on that -- Jerry can only be talking about his blood, because that’s all Charley’s ever done for him until tonight, but the way he says it makes it _sound_ worse. He makes it sound like maybe Jerry made him do more, or maybe Jerry tasted more than his blood and his skin, and he should deny it, or clarify, or anything but -- 

“ _Yes_ ,” he sighs again, and Ed responds to whatever wave of macho fuck bullshit goes through Jerry with another low noise and another needy jerk of his hips.

Jerry sets his teeth against Charley’s throat, and he freezes between them.

He hasn’t really thought about it, but Jerry hasn’t fed from his neck since the first time, when it was against his will and it _hurt_ , and he had bruises for weeks from Jerry’s teeth and his hands pinning him.

Now, he leans back more into Jerry’s chest, even though it makes him feel like his arm is going to snap in half, and Jerry _groans_.

_Compliant_ rings in his ears when he shuts his eyes, barely feeling like his own thought. One hand behind him palming Jerry’s cock, Jerry’s teeth on his neck, Ed straddling him with _his_ cock out and Charley’s hand on his waist, Jerry’s arm propped on Charley’s shoulder so Ed can drink from it, smears of his own red blood across mouths and hands -- this would have looked like a nightmare to him even a month ago, and now he’s wondering, kind of _hopefully_ , if Jerry will sink his teeth into him again.

If… If it’s going to be like this, he could be okay with it. He could keep doing this for Ed -- the altered diet, the drowsiness, only ever having _just_ enough blood to keep his body functioning, all the _bruises_ \-- he could keep doing this if it means Ed is his friend again, and neither of them is killing anyone. It’ll be his good deed for his whole sorry life.

“Bite me,” he decides, breathy and out of it. “Please, Jerry, c’mon.”

Ed looks up at him like Charley’s just offered him the world. Jerry biting Charley would mean more direct blood, maybe even Charley’s chemicals piggybacking long enough for Ed to taste him too instead of the watered-down, filtered version he’s currently getting. It’d almost be like Ed biting Charley himself, and Charley wants him to _get_ that, he _deserves_ that.

Jerry’s teeth hover. Charley can feel the chill of Jerry’s mouth as it takes in the heat radiating off him, he can almost feel the points of his teeth lined against his skin, but -- 

Jerry pulls away instead.

“We’re done,” Jerry says cooly. He doesn’t take his arm away from Ed, but Ed’s face shifts and he pulls off on his own.

Charley’s still delirious.

“What?”

Jerry ignores him. He lets go of Charley’s wrist and carefully moves his arm back into his lap, but Charley barely notices the relief in his strained muscles.

“Say goodnight to Charley.”

Ed swallows the last of the blood in his mouth and gives himself a moment to let his fangs retract, looking ten kinds of miserable.

“Goodnight, Charley,” Ed says, and carefully gets off the bed. He straightens himself out some and puts his dick away as best he can, and leaves.

That brings Charley back to himself some, but not enough before Ed’s gone.

“What?” he asks again. “Why’s Ed leaving?”

“Because he’s done,” Jerry says. He’s lying.

“Why didn’t you bite me?” he asks instead.

“I’m done too,” he lies again. His tone says not to ask any more questions, though, so Charley shuts his mouth.

It startles him when he feels Jerry’s mouth on his neck again anyway, but with no fangs to speak of.

“Do you still want to cum?” he asks softly. Jerry sounds different -- it’s not a tease or something meant to engage him, get him to ask for more; it’s just a question.

Jerry’s hands slide down the insides of Charley’s thighs, barely touching the fading marks on his skin. He’s somehow kept his underwear on throughout this, a wet spot soaked through where his cock’s been leaking with every movement from either of them.

Charley doesn’t ask Jerry if he wants him to return the favor. Feeling his cock pressed up through his jeans is the furthest Charley’s gone with Jerry yet, and somehow, he gets the feeling Jerry’s… _Waiting_ for something.

“Yeah,” he admits. “But not if you don’t, y’know --” he says quickly, and swallows to get his voice even again. “I can just go home if you want.”

Jerry mouths at his neck.

“Do you want me to jerk you off?” Jerry asks, as his fingertips trail over Charley’s waistband.

Charley swallows again.

“Do _you_ want to jerk me off?”

Jerry… Doesn’t say anything. For once, he’s actually shut up, and that worries Charley more than anything else.

Charley leans back against him. He’s not as cold as usual, freshly warmed with Charley’s own blood, but it still doesn’t feel human.

Jerry slides his hand under his waistband anyway, and even though his hands are the same not-warm as the rest of him, it’s still a hand closing around his cock and _stroking_.

It’s probably weird that he’s still thinking about Ed -- wondering if he’s done this with Jerry too, if he’d know what to do like Jerry does or if they’d fumble through it together until they figured it out, if Ed’s hand would be warmer since he’s so much smaller than Jerry and wouldn’t need as much blood to get warm. Does this constitute a crush on Ed, or just not wanting it to be _Jerry_ touching him? 

Most of his thoughts fly out the window when Jerry pulls him closer, perfectly flush against his chest, and Charley realizes he’s still hard, pressed up against his ass and _rutting_ up against him like he’s just as desperate to get off as Charley is.

He doesn’t know what’s worse -- the fact that it makes him think about Jerry doing this for real, making Charley ride him with his back to him so he can jerk him off in the same movements he’s using to fuck him, or the fact that it’s ultimately _that_ making him grit his teeth and fuck up into Jerry’s hand one last time before he cums, spilling over Jerry’s fingers and his own underwear like it’s the first time he’s been touched in his life.

Jerry stops pushing his hips up when Charley melts against him, but he can still feel how hard he is. If he wasn’t exhausted, he might insist on Jerry getting himself off out of courtesy, but all the spots he’s been bitten and kissed are starting to pulse and ache, and if he doesn’t get a hot shower soon, he’ll be a lot worse off in the morning.

He’s barely conscious when Jerry moves him so he can get out from behind him. It might be the most gentle Jerry has ever been with him, laying him out on top of the blankets while his eyes are still squeezed shut. 

He leaves the room while Charley is still laid out panting, and he’s still gone when Charley finally feels capable of moving again.

When he comes back, Jerry returns without a shirt on and without the bulge in his pants. It’s pretty teenage-boy of him to have jerked off in the bathroom and come back like nothing happened, but, whatever.

Charley starts to redress while Jerry ignores him and looks for a shirt. He waits until he’s got his jeans most of the way back on to speak.

“Why can't Ed bite me?” he asks.

Jerry snorts. The mood has dissipated, and suddenly Charley recognizes the douchebag in front of him again.

“He may as well be a baby with a chainsaw,” Jerry says, rifling through a pile. Good to know ‘immortal’ can still mean ‘disorganized’. “He’d tear your throat out if I let him.”

Charley frowns.

“I don't think he would,” he says, and he means it. “If he didn't bite me when his teeth were already on me, don't you think that’s enough self-control?”

Jerry turns to smile at him, this condescending sneer that says both _you really don't get it, do you?_ and _God, you're cute when you're dumb_.

“He controlled himself tonight because he was already full.” He pulls a found shirt over his head, either ignoring or not noticing the blood smeared and dry down the collar. Charley thinks it might be his own blood, actually. “Besides, I told him I'd kill you both if he did.”

Charley laughs weakly, but Jerry raises his eyebrows at him.

He’s not joking.

“Jesus, Jerry,” he mutters. “Why?”

Jerry shrugs.

“Don't wanna share, don't wanna risk him killing my favorite food,” he says, nonchalantly, like that's an entirely reasonable thing to say.

Charley can't think of anything to say that wouldn't be ‘you're such an asshole’, so instead, he asks another question.

“Why didn't you let me…? Y'know. Help him.”

He doesn't want to say _finish him off_ , or _get him off_ , or anything that might hint at just how badly he wanted to keep touching his best friend, but he still wants to know why.

“He wasn't there for that,” Jerry shrugs again. “He was there to feed, then he did, so it was time for him to go.”

Charley can't even _begin_ to point out how much bullshit that is. Why would Jerry have Ed slide his dick in his mouth, straddle him, kiss him, and get _this close_ to biting him if he was only there to get blood from Jerry? Why have him visit Charley during a feeding session at all except to drink or do _that_ , and Jerry _just_ said he was already full anyway.

He wants to mutter _bullshit_.

“I bet you just got jealous,” he mutters instead, and regrets it almost instantly.

“And I bet Ed’s head would look good on a plate,” Jerry says airily. “But that's not your business either, is it?”

Charley swallows.

“Guess not.”

Jerry doesn’t say anything else as Charley finishes getting dressed, just leans against the doorframe and watches him.

When Charley’s been sitting on Jerry’s bed fully-clothed for almost a minute in silence, he finally asks, “Should I go?”

“Sure,” Jerry says, still in the doorway, his response devoid of the usual casual threats about what will happen if he doesn’t get out of his house.

Charley stands. He’s suddenly nervous about passing Jerry to get out, because he’s never really had to before; Jerry will still be on the bed or have fucked off into another part of the house by the time Charley is on his way out. And Jerry, dick that he is, makes him squeeze through the doorway past him instead of just moving.

He’s almost into the hallway when Jerry grabs him.

He thinks Jerry is going in for the bite he didn’t take, but his mouth lands on Charley’s own instead. Jerry’s hands stay in their places, one grabbing Charley’s shoulder hard enough to bruise and the other forced into his hair to keep Charley crushed to him.

It’s not _un_ pleasant. Jerry’s mouth is soft against his, just _determined_ , and Charley actually relaxes into it, for the most part. He even kisses back, at least enough to make it less awkward.

When Jerry lets go, what feels like hours later, Charley’s face is red and he’s gone pliant again, mostly held up by Jerry’s hands on him.

“Go home,” Jerry finally says. The threat is back in it, and Charley doesn’t have to be told twice, even if his knees feel weak from being _kissed_ like that.

He takes a shower once he’s safely in his own house, rinsing off any blood or spit or cum that might still be on him. His mom doesn’t have the sense of smell a vampire does, but he’s still paranoid about her finding out _anything_ about this.

He’s sitting on his bed wearing nothing but a towel, thinking about the night again now that he’s in his right mind.

Jerry was definitely acting weird.

The guy will usually make any excuse to bite him, but not this time? Maybe because Ed was there, but… That doesn’t explain it either. He was still fine with biting him for most of the time Ed was there.

Not liking the feeling of Ed taking blood immediately back out of him, maybe? Except that’s just about what he was doing already, so wouldn’t he have just turned the idea down? He _almost_ bit Charley, but not an _’almost’_ like he was deciding if he wanted to or not. 

There was something that made him choose _not_ to bite even though he wanted to, so what the fuck? If it was Ed, he could have done it once Ed left the room, but he just finished Charley off instead.

Which, that too -- there’s never been that kind of touching without feeding. Jerry didn’t have to get him off, and if anything, Charley would have thought he would have gotten himself off too. There was the grinding up against him, yeah, but he could have held Charley there and finished himself off if he wanted, because God knows he doesn’t have any hang-ups about cumming in his jeans, but didn’t.

So… He didn’t want to do anything with Ed in the room, but he only got like that at a certain point. When was that?

Charley’s face reddens. Right. He tried to get Ed to bite him -- begged for it, if he’s going to be honest with himself -- and Jerry didn’t let him. Jerry didn’t let him jerk Ed off either, and wouldn’t bite him when he wanted Jerry to bite him specifically for Ed to taste him.

So the problem was… Ed?

_I bet you just got jealous_ , he remembers saying.

That can’t be it. Why would _Jerry_ be jealous of Ed? The guy’s his best friend, but he doesn’t have anything going on that Jerry doesn’t, right?

...Except he does. Ed has Charley’s interest. Jesus, all he had to do was show up and Charley was practically drooling to blow him. He wanted Ed to bite him, wanted to get Ed off, _wanted_ to kiss him, wanted _Ed_.

Was _that_ why he got weird?

Was that why Jerry kissed him before he left? Because _Ed_ had kissed him?

Something occurs to him then, and it’s almost 3 A.M. when Charley’s stomach sinks and he opens an incognito Google window.

_do vampires have mates?_

**Author's Note:**

> you can also find me being much less nasty on [tumblr!](https://www.sandpapersnowman.tumblr.com)


End file.
